


Keepsakes

by DunkinLove



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunkinLove/pseuds/DunkinLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya returns to East Berlin to collect keepsakes from Gaby's old apartment</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He stood in front of the grey apartment block In the Mitte neighborhood of East Berlin on a miserable drizzly afternoon. It's the last place on Earth that you would expect someone as captivating as Gaby to reside. She fit in so well with the exotic landscapes of their missions that he often forgets that she is native to this small dark corner of communist Berlin. 

It has been weeks since their last mission ended and Illya returned to the Easten Bloc to placate his KGB retainers. After being assured of his allegiance and commitment in Moscow, Illya was granted permission to continue with UNCLE. For the time being. Before returning to the West to rendezvous however, he has one more task to complete that has been on his mind since he left Istanbul.

While making their way through a bazaar on their last day in Turkey, Gaby had been drawn to the stall of a jewelry vendor hawking bracelets, necklaces and rings containing mother of pearl. Illya had noticed how solemn Gaby became as she looked at the gleaming pieces. 

Coming up beside her, Illya only had to look at her in concern to receive an explanation. "My mother left me a necklace of mother of pearl" she said, lightly touching one of the finer pieces "I suppose I'll never see it again". Gaby shrugged sadly and moved along to the next stall. It hadn't occurred to Illya until that moment that Gaby had left East Berlin with no preparation - due to his pursuit - and had no opportunity to even bring one keepsake with her. He remembered with a pang how much it hurt to know he may never see his father's watch again and he felt terribly guilty knowing she may have the same connection to some lost heirloom of her own. 

At that moment he had resolved to do everything within his power to bring her back something from her former life. He was the only one of the three agents who could enter East Berlin without immediate danger or harassment and he was going to take advantage of that privilege.

Now, standing in front of the address he had obtained months ago when Gaby first became a 'person of interest' he was going to do what he could to reclaim her keepsakes. 

He entered the drab building and climbed to the third floor. Stopping in front of the apartment door he proceeded to effortlessly pick the lock. It was the middle of the day but he was unconcerned. Even when the door to the apartment on the right opened and a middle aged woman entered the corridor, he didn't stop his task. The woman took one look at him, diverted her eyes and headed for the stairway on the opposite end of the building. _Smart_.

The lock gave and he entered. He was somewhat surprised to find that the apartment had not been ransacked by Stasi goons, but he supposed her initial status as a KGB decoy and now as an UNCLE agent gave her some semblance of immunity. He has no doubt, however, that one of his colleagues has already inspected this place discreetly and that if he took the time to look he'd find it bugged from ceiling to floor.

The apartment itself was small and sparse. In the living area there was a little couch with colorful pillows across from an orange armchair, record table and bookshelf. A shag rug donned the floor while ugly yellow and orange striped wallpaper covered the walls. He guessed Gaby inherited the property from her foster family and had not bothered with many updates since. On the opposite side of the space was the even smaller kitchen. A red kettle sat on the stove, and a used tea cup in the sink, its owner never having returned to wash it.

He felt strangely vulnerable standing in the apartment. He had searched hundreds of personal residences in his career, both with and without the owners' knowledge, but here he felt invasive and awkward, like he could feel her eyes watching him as he surveyed her home. He imagined her stretched out on the little couch, feet up on the arm, magazine in hand, eyebrow raised and quizzical look on her face as she asks him what exactly he thinks he's doing.

Rolling his shoulders to ebb his discomfort he knelt in front of the bookshelf to begin his search. He quickly scanned its contents; mechanical and automotive manuals, books on English grammar that she has probably had since she was a school girl, and picture frames. Within the first silver frame a slight woman in her early thirties smiled gently at him. She had dark eyes and the same angular face as her daughter. Beside her frame was another more recent photo of a teenaged Gaby and what was likely her foster father. They stood in his garage next to a gleaming sports car. Illya took the photos and wrapped them in his jacket before putting it in a bag he brought. 

He moved on to the record player which had a stack of albums at its side. He inspected the first few on the top of the deck, confused to find that most are albums of traditional German folk music, but upon further review he noticed the jackets did not match the vinyls inside. She has a small collection of what looks like British, West German and American popular music. Music that is strictly prohibited by the Stasi. Even though she can easily buy replacement albums for her new flat in London he took the collection anyway and added it to the bag. He knew he will eventually regret taking them as it is only a matter of time before he is subjected to their sounds. 

Normally he would make special note of such a collection - clear signs that someone is planning to defect, or who is receiving bribes from foreign contacts - but with her it is oddly endearing. He imagines her as a little magpie, flitting around the city collecting bits of Western culture to bring back and hide in her nest. 

Down the narrow hallway he finds the bedroom. It is small, with the unmade bed taking up the majority of the space, but there was a modest wardrobe in the corner. He opened the doors and saw her clothing hanging neatly inside. She has since acquired new, high-end clothing and he can safely assume that she probably doesn't want the somewhat drab looking contents of her old wardrobe. He opened the top drawer below the hanging clothing and quickly closed it when he caught a glimpse of lace. He knows that people (women especially) will hide valuable objects in such drawers but he refuses to see the look on her face when she has a keepsake returned only to realize that it means he went rifling through her undergarments. Whatever else was in there would have to remain a mystery.

He was relieved to find that the next drawer contains her jewelry. Within a small music box he found the mother-of-pearl necklace. The Art Deco piece was outdated but it was made with beautiful craftsmanship nonetheless. He delicately wrapped the music box in thick scarf from the wardrobe above. He collected her few rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings and put them into one of her smaller handbags before he added it and the music box to the rest of the items.

A small night stand with a lamp sat next to the bed, containing one long shallow drawer. He sat on the bed to inspect the drawer's contents. Several French fashion magazines, an address book (with numerous pages ripped out), hair pins and one and five pfennig coins scattered about the bottom, two foil wrapped condoms- He slammed the drawer shut and stood up from the bed, balling his fists. _Nothing else to see there._

Calming himself, he dropped down on one knee and looked under the bed. Several pairs of heels were lined up in a row. Behind them, nearly touching the wall on the other side, was a cardboard box. He pulled the box out from under the bed and opened it, resisting a sneeze from the cloud of dust he disturbed. Inside the box was a photo album. The photos looked to be at least twenty years old, judging from the clothing being worn by their subjects. He sat on the floor with his back against the bed and flipped through. A small child with the same woman in the frame in the living room. Toddling about a garden landscape the child already has the defiant dark eyes that have become so familiar to him. The photo on the opposite page shows the three of them. He has only seen the man once before - and not in the best circumstances - but he certainly recognized him. He felt a flash of anger, seeing the family that this man would one day abandon. Leaving her in a city massacred by war and then occupied by a foreign power. _Your country_ , he reminded himself. Not for the first time he suppressed the guilt he feels when he thinks about her life in East Berlin. _These are dangerous thoughts_ , he warned.

He closed the album and looked back at the box. Inside one small beady eye stared back at him. The plush brown bear was probably only a fourth of its original size, most of its stuffing having been ripped out ages ago, but it still had a cheery little face despite having been loved to pieces. Its head was only attached to its body by a couple strands. He smiled back at it. This would be used as fodder to tease her for weeks. 

Adding the box's contents to his bag he exited the bedroom. There is a small bathroom off the hallway opposite with a pedestal sink, several small shelves of toiletries and a shower with a clear plastic curtain... 

He swallowed hard.

Shaking his head he entered the bathroom, not expecting to find much of value, but quickly inspected the shelves of toiletries. Among bottles of shampoo, soap, lotion and a hair dryer he spotted a familiar brand of men's shaving foam. _Maybe she uses it? Or maybe..._

He ground his teeth and stalked out of the bathroom and back into the living area.

He set the bag on the couch and looked around the room one last time. Everything else will need to remain behind, and he can only hope he has found her most sentimental keepsakes to return. He suddenly felt haunted standing in the abandoned apartment and found himself feeling even more anxious to return to the woman who's presence is only a memory in this place.

Zipping up the bag he headed out into the corridor and closed the door on her former life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya returns Gaby's keepsakes from her apartment in East Berlin

The next morning Illya prepared for his departure to London.

At the crossing into West Berlin he had his suitcase and bag inspected. After reviewing his papers the guard rummaged around his clothing and then Gaby's items. He flipped through the albums in disinterest and then lifted the bear from the bag.

"Plüschbär?" He asked in astonishment, giving the large man a once over.

Illya shrugged casually.

The guard returned the items to the bag and pushed it back towards Illya with a raised eyebrow before turning to the next person in line.

Once Illya reached the airport and boarded his plane he could finally give a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if he was relieved to be getting further away from the increasingly uncomfortable gaze of his KGB superiors or that he was returning to his colleagues, whom he had become quite fond of. Either way, he was very pleased once he was off the ground and on his way to the UK.

He had always enjoyed London. It was one of the first cities he had visited in the West and while it still reeked of opulence and capitalism it had a subdued, grey, old-world charm that appealed to him. It was also not nearly as ostentatious as American cities, which he very much appreciated.

Upon arriving to his hotel he quickly unpacked his suitcase and showered. He did not need to check-in to headquarters until the following morning so he thought he'd pay Gaby a visit in the evening. Solo wasn't due to arrive until dawn after taking a red eye from New York. While he begrudgingly looked forward to seeing him, Illya was glad he could have the evening with just himself and Gaby.

He spent more time than he would like to admit looking in the mirror and inspecting his clothing and he was generally nervous when he picked up the phone's receiver to call her number. _What is wrong with you?! You are KGB, just dial the number!_

He was still holding his breath when she answered the phone almost immediately.

"Hello?"

"It's Illya....from work" he almost choked. He squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation with himself.

A subdued laugh came over the receiver. "Oh, that Illya. I wasn't sure."

"Are you home?" he continued miserably.

"Yes, I did answer the phone" he could hear her smiling.

"Yes...of course" he said, violently raking his fingers through his hair. He hoped to any and every god in the universe that no one was tapping this horrendous phone call. "I am in London, and might stop by, your place...?"

"Yes, that's fine. I will be here all evening" she said, giving him her address. 

"Ok, goodbye. See you soon" he said quickly before slamming the receiver down and resisting the urge to punch himself in the face.

After putting his hair back in order he grabbed the bag and headed out of the hotel and to the nearest tube station.

She lived in a small flat south of the river Thames in a quaint, if somewhat working-class, neighborhood. The building itself was a renovated 19th-century house and was much more welcoming than the multistory concrete Stalinist apartment block she used to call home. 

With the bag over his shoulder he approached the red door and knocked. Not long after, he heard several locks clicking and his heart quickened and suddenly she was standing before him. She smiled brightly and invited him inside before he stooped slightly to get through the doorway. 

Her single flat was on the second floor. It was only slightly larger than her previous place, and almost just as sparse, her having just moved in, but there was a feeling of life in there where the apartment in Berlin had been eerily sterile. The last remnants of grey English light came through the window, illuminating a small sitting room. The window was slightly ajar and birds chirped in the garden behind the residence. 

"Do you want food?" She asked as she made her way barefoot into the kitchen off the side of the sitting room, her high ponytail swinging behind her.

He set the bag on the coffee table in front of the couch. His stomach answered her by grumbling. "Yes, please. I have not eaten yet today."

She had concocted some ridiculous meal called fondue, which according to her was becoming all the rage in New York. She was clearly indulging in every aspect of Western culture she could come across in her new home, he thought with a smile. He would have just preferred to eat the food without needing to individually dip every piece in cheese but it was tasty nonetheless. 

Over dinner and wine, they spoke about her relocation to London and her favorite parts of the city and how confusing the British could be from time to time with the snobbish manners of the upper class and the sometimes incomprehensible accents of the lower. She seemed to have adjusted well for someone who had uprooted her entire life in a matter of weeks, but he would not expect anything less. She was strong.

When they were finished, he headed back into the sitting room.

"I brought you something."

"Mm" she said around a mouthful of cheese as she left the kitchen "something from back East? what did you bring me? A Russian copy of _The Communist Manifesto_?" she teased.

"No."

"Lenin's body?"

"No."

"Despair??"

"No. Open the bag." 

She made her way over to the coffee table and began unzipping the bag with a look of curiosity. 

"I hope you do not mind" he explained as she revealed the contents "but I retrieved some things from your old apartment that you may want back..." 

His voice trailed off as she unwrapped the framed pictures. She looked at them without any reaction and for a moment he was very much afraid she would be angry at him for invading her home. After what seemed like an eternity her face broke into a smile and she looked up at him with glassy eyes. 

"I never thought I'd see these again!" She exclaimed. She quickly tore into the next wrapped item to reveal the music box and the necklace within. 

"Illya! How...how were you..." She tried to ask as she clutched the necklace, marveling at its existence.

"Stasi idiots did not touch the place and no one was going to stop the KGB from entering" he explained matter-of-factly. 

She donned the necklace which looked elegant draped across her decolletage.

Without missing a beat, she pulls out the albums. 

"I never knew you were fan of folk music. Such a good German" he said with a smile. 

She threw her head back and laughed. "You're going to regret bringing these back!" 

"I already knew this" he sighed.

She dug further into the bag and released a gasp "Bruno!" She pulled the toy from the bag and instinctively held it against her chest, her chin resting against the top of its tattered, one-eyed head. Then her face turned beet red as she looked down at the pathetic bear and back at Illya in embarrassment. 

"He is not destroyed yet. I thought you might like to finish the job." 

She laughed and put the bear in her lap as she sorted her jewelry. "You went through my whole place....did you look in my panties drawer?" She asked coyly, looking at him from the side of her eye.

"I did not" he replied pointedly.

"I wouldn't have minded if you had" she said half jokingly.

This time it was his turn to blush. "If you want that you should have Cowboy inspect your apartment next time. It will be first and only place he looks." 

She grins and pulls out the last item. Her smile slowly fades when she opens the album to reveal her childhood photographs.

"I haven't looked at these in years" she murmurs as she flips through the pages. Her face grows more solemn as she came across the photograph of her five-year-old self with her parents. 

They remain silent for several breaths. 

She closes the book and looks back at him. "Thank you" she says quietly.

"Least I could do...all things considered."

He stayed several hours longer as she insisted on playing some of her albums for him. She regaled him with tales on how she obtained the illegal records and of drag races and underground concerts she would attend in East Berlin - but only after she made him promise to not use the information to condemn people back home for doing the same things.

As she spoke he was surprised to feel himself becoming envious of the rebellious spirit she had as a youth; he never would have allowed himself to stray from what the State considered proper and honorable behavior. He wondered how someone as multifaceted as Gaby could ever enjoy the company of someone as straight-laced and boring as himself.

When the bottle of wine was finished and the record crackled as it spun at the end of its track he helped her clean the kitchen and headed for the door. 

"Thank you again" she said before abruptly wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back and held her much the same way she had held Bruno, with his chin on top of her head.

"You're welcome," he said as they released each other and he headed out onto the street "see you tomorrow." She waved from the doorway as her mother's necklace gleamed in the street light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure exactly when fondue became popular but I liked the idea of Illya eating it :) 
> 
> This was supposed to be a more 'romantic' entry but ended up being more platonic friendship with hints of flirtation, humor, and a whole lot of awkward, which I thought worked out well in the end (nor did I want to make it seem like Illya expected something from her just bc he retrieved her things, like "here's your sh*t, now get in bed").
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Hope you enjoy. There may be a second part.


End file.
